


Result of Suffering

by Kylo_Rens_Slashed_Face (Tauntaun_Logistics)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, kylux titleception 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-10-30 03:38:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17821130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tauntaun_Logistics/pseuds/Kylo_Rens_Slashed_Face





	Result of Suffering

 

 

A voice — many voices — screamed at him — in him — in his head — nonsensical, noisy, overbearing, agonizing. He couldn’t shake it. He writhed on the bed — no matter how many times he turned, or flopped, or curled into a ball, it wouldn’t cease, or even simmer down, it screamed and wailed. Nonsensical. But fervid. As if overwrought with frustration that it could not make itself clear that it just made itself louder.

 

His face felt hot — a headache — a fever. Then pain. All over. Stomach, back, legs. Like being punched  — or beaten with sticks or rocks — relentless. The screaming always preceded it. It still shook him every time. How much it hurt. How incessant it was. He deserved it, he told himself. All the suffering he caused amplified back at him by the Force.  It came in waves. Almost predictable. After killing someone, usually. After killing many, always. He could use the Dark Side to shield himself in the moment, to focus the pain and torment into physical power. That rush he enjoyed. And this was his punishment for that addiction.

 

A settling on the bed. A warm hand. Hux. Thrusting a couple of pills and a water glass into his face. Painkillers wouldn’t help — he knew it — but he took them for Hux’s sake. At least when the pain came, the screaming dulled. Perhaps it didn’t, but he could only focus on so many things at once — the pain muffled the screaming — his head still pounded.  

 

He would have to ride it out. Nothing else to be done for it. Hux tried to comfort him, to hold him, but Kylo couldn’t lay in one position for more than a few minutes. He scrambled around, tangling in the sheets, trying to find a second’s worth of ease. He may as well have been trying to rest in the midst of a battlefield. Something fought him. Wanted to hurt him. Many things, one big thing, many tiny things. It didn’t matter. They did hurt him. The ghosts —  or whatever they were. The guilt — beating on him — the physical pain — the mental anguish — the screaming — he deserved all of it.

 

It didn’t make him sorry. Just angry. Angry that he couldn’t push it back. Angry at himself for being weak.

 

“You’re not weak,” Hux said, Kylo on the verge of tears. Of course I’m weak! — he thought — this is what weakness means —  feeling pain — Unable to doing anything about it! Hux said it to help, but it made him angry.

 

“Go away! You’re not helping! Nothing helps!” He curled into a ball, then, a second later, flailed every limb like he was trying to shake off an onslaught of stinging wasps.

 

“I don’t care if nothing helps! I’m staying with you!” Hux was so stubborn — he cared for him — Kylo knew. He didn’t deserve someone that cared. Hux cared too much — his suffering and lifelong longing for a connection, any human connection, had made him care too much for someone that didn’t deserve it. Kylo could never return that love. He couldn’t let love touch him.  Not now. It was too late. If heartlessness hurt him this much, how much would love hurt?

 

He closed himself. Turned inward. Turned it all inward. All the sadness, loneliness, anger, regret — pain — all inward. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Hux there. He did. He didn’t want Hux to witness him like this. He had — many times. But every time Kylo couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t bear to feel so weak, so powerless. He couldn’t bear that Hux had to see him like this.

 

Hux was the strong one. At least he could put on a strong front. Kylo had never seen him cry, or show outwardly his pain. He had felt it, though. He knew it was there. Hux could be hard. Or soft. When he wanted. He didn’t show his softness to anyone but Kylo. A lot to Kylo. In private, between only them, Hux was the softest, sweetest human. But he never showed weakness. Kylo admired that.

 

A quiet, lulling sound. Music, like ocean waves. Calming, somewhat. Humming. A song sung to babe. Damn it! It felt nice, in his brain, cooling, calming, dissipating the yelling in his head. He settled for a moment, letting himself fall into a trance. His head in Hux’s lap while Hux smoothed the sweaty strands of his hair. Softly humming a kind of a song — with no words. But there could have been words. It felt like there should be words. But, like a baby, he didn’t understand them. Strange words. A language he had never heard. Except he had. This song. Hux sang it to him before — every time the pain came.

 

Tears came to his eyes. They didn’t help. They burned his face. Everything that touched him hurt him — but Hux. Fingers so soft from being hidden away under gloves. Voice of an ethereal being — too pure for this world. Hux kept that hidden, too. These were precious things he shared only with Kylo. Kylo had nothing pure, nothing precious to share. He was rough and coarse and brooding — always— even when they were alone — and Hux seemed to like that about him. But it hurt him that he had nothing soft and secret and special.

 

Maybe there was —  hidden so deep — locked away so tight he couldn’t find it —  had forgotten about it.

 

He pounded a too-tight fist on Hux’s leg. Pain crept and creaked around his body like the spirits of the restless dead on a haunted battleship, but he didn’t want to move. He wanted to fall into Hux’s soft caresses like falling into a field of flowers — intoxicated by their rosy, sweet petals lifting and waving in the breeze. Hux would probably hit him if he compared him to a field of flowers. Or maybe kiss him for it. He never complimented Hux too deeply: ‘You smell good’ or ‘New haircut? I like it.’

 

Hux was such a romantic. He would go on about Kylo’s dark, stormy eyes, or how the heat of his body mirrored his passion. He could have been a poet — he was a poet — in his heart — it was something he dared not expose to the world. But he was free with those words when he and Kylo were alone. And he spoke them with such ease and openness that Kylo had no doubt they came entirely from the heart. Kylo wished he could say such things and sound sincere. He was afraid Hux would laugh at him if he tried.

 

“Like flowers,” he said half-dreamily — he could blame his fever.

 

Hux stopped humming. “Hmmm?”

 

“Keep singing,” Kylo said. “It helps.”  

 

“I know, that’s why I sing it to you,” Hux said, continuing the lullaby.

 

He didn’t want to interrupt him again — he’d have to remember to ask what the words meant — if there was ever a good moment to ask that — if those were words — they were magical. Or maybe it was just the way Hux sang it that made it magical. Just that he did it so lovingly — so honestly loving. Kylo cried. He wanted to return Hux’s love — match it — the honesty — the openness.

 

What did he know of love? He and Hux would destroy the bed — and each other — on a daily basis — passionate — but real love? Or was it his way of ignoring real love? Sidestepping it? ‘I like your haircut today; let’s fuck each other’s brains out’ — that wasn’t love. Hux singing and stroking his cheek — that was. He did it every time. For as long as it took for the pain to ebb — hours maybe — if that’s what it took. Patiently, tenderly. Real. Real love. How Hux found it in himself when he had never received it in his entire life amazed Kylo.

 

Kylo had received it, but he turned his back on it. He had to. For the sake of his legacy — chained to it — bloodlines — he had to. He was the last of his family line and all love ever did was destroy it. Fuck that! he thought. He fought his entire life for something he didn’t even understand. Everyone telling him, ‘be this, be that, but forsake love, that will destroy you. Love leads to fear, love leads to emotions you couldn’t possibly control — too powerful emotions — emotions that will be your undoing.’

 

Fuck that!

 

But Hux had never been loved. Except — this song was so full of love — a thought came to his fevered brain —

 

“This song. You sing it to me a lot, but I have never asked: what is it?”

 

“It’s a song my mother sang me. I can’t believe I remember it … but it’s all I remember about her.”

 

— he had been loved —  so long ago it should have been forgotten — but it had not been forgotten.

 

Kylo sobbed, “I don’t deserve it.”  He sat up, pushing Hux away. “It’s too special. It’s your mother’s song for you. I don’t deserve it.”

 

Hux hugged him, “Yes, it is special, that’s why I sing it to you.”

 

It was the most special thing Hux could give him. The most special thing in Hux’s life. And Kylo could give him nothing in return.

 

Hux looked at him — eyes that could be cold and dark — but for him were soft and patient. The screaming, he realized, had stopped. The pain endured, but only as the faint stinging of running through a briar. He wanted to say something deep and have it sound sincere. He felt his whole life was a mask that he couldn’t remove. All falsities and flourish and pomp. He felt exhausted. Exhausted enough to sleep. But he couldn't sleep. He hadn’t slept all night — with the screaming in his head and ache in his body.

 

He wished he could give Hux something — something sincere. The only sincere thing he had was pain and suffering. But that was … that was… it struck him like a bolt! That was the only sincere thing Hux had, too. The pain. The suffering. It must hurt him so much to sing that song. But he did it — for Kylo — to ease his pain.

 

Suffering to ease suffering. What sense did that make?

 

It didn’t. But it was true — a truth. That’s all he wanted — something true — something real — something special —  that he could share.

 

He hugged Hux and cried into his shoulder. And it all came pouring out — he couldn’t stop it  — all the pain he had endured — all the pain he caused — all the lies he’d been told — all the lies he told — all his fears — all his hatred — fucking bloodlines and legacies — it all flooded out.

 

Hux held him long after — he sobbed — his body hurt from it — his head hurt from it — but it was done.

 

If Hux hated him now, he’d understand, but he had to let it out — or it was going to rip him to pieces trying to get out.

 

“I’m sorry, Hux, I have nothing else to give you! I wanted to give you love, but I don’t have it. All I have is suffering. I’ve chosen a path I wish I could go back on. I was told that love would destroy me and I’ve rejected it so long, I don’t know if I’m capable of it. But you deserve to be loved. I know that much.”

 

“And you deserve it, too, Kylo. I wish you’d see that. You’re not undeserving of love,” Hux said.

 

“No.”

 

“I’m sorry you have to feel this way. I don’t understand the Force or why it would do this to you. But, I care about you and thank you for opening up to me. I know that is very hard,” Hux told him.

 

Sincere — Hux was never anything but sincere and forthright with him. It made him ashamed of hiding behind all his masks and layers. But also ashamed to have suddenly piled all his misery on him.

 

Hux deserved better.  

 

“It must be hard for you to sing that song. I didn’t understand how hard it must be until now.” Kylo said, laying his head in Hux’s lap.

 

Hux sang to him again, that loving lullaby.

 

He wanted to be better — for Hux — to be the person deserving of that love — that pure, open, sincere love. He wanted to say something deep, meaningful. Not trite and sappy — fake I-love-yous. Fuck it! If he meant it — if it was true — it couldn’t be anything other than sincere- fuck it if it sounded sappy.

 

He took Hux’s hand. “Like flowers-“

 

“Hmm?” Hux smiled.

 

He brushed the soft fingertips to his cheek. “ -they feel like flowers.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
